


it's just less frequently that you catch him in bloom

by oswinosgoodsscarf



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid
Genre: (until the apocalypse happens but shh), Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23313886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswinosgoodsscarf/pseuds/oswinosgoodsscarf
Summary: 5 (ish) times that Tim smiled after his Mom died.
Relationships: Hannah Foster & Tim Houston, Tim Houston & Tom Houston
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	it's just less frequently that you catch him in bloom

**Author's Note:**

> "He still lights up a room/ It's just less frequently that you see him in bloom"  
> Some the steps in Tim's grief towards healing.

The first time his son smiled after the funeral, Tom was too deep in his own pain and grief to notice. It was a rusty, tiny thing; muscles jerking back into formerly familiar positions after _(ages, eternities, millennia)_ lack of use. But it was a smile, a tiny bit of color slowly seeping back into Tim's life after it was snatched away. The fact that his classmate decided to stop by and ask how he was, was touching. He hadn't thought that Hannah would even notice he wasn't in class, never mind take the time to visit him at his house and _talk_ to him (honestly, he didn’t even realize she could talk as much as she had). It took Tim waving goodbye and closing the door to realize that he was actually smiling because of Hannah Foster’s visit. It didn’t last long, quickly slipping from his face to make way for the sad, lost expression that had made itself at home after the accident, but it was a smile.

* * *

A dog, a funny cartoon, the sun on his face, his friends. Smiles still felt foreign on his face after so many tears and panicked, sweat-soaked nights and worn-out, grey days; but they slowly re-entered his life, inch by inch. Every further expression of happiness came easier, felt a little bit less like a betrayal to his Mom and more like a continuation of what she had started, a continuation of life.

* * *

The first smile Tom saw was when he picked up his guitar again. To properly play, not just to dust off or move it out of the way. The warm wood and metal biting at his fingertips felt like home and pain and betrayal; the man who had a living, happy wife played guitar, but he didn't know if the man he was now even could. Still, he hesitantly plucked out a simple melody, chasing that feeling of wholeness _(like he didn't have a gaping hole in his chest the shape of her smile and the hands and laughter) -_

The smile that the short refrain elicited blew Tom away; that smile could power the _world_ , it was so warm and bright and _happy_ \- Tom felt like, for the first time in forever, that his son was back. The bright, happy boy that sped around the house, boundless energy somehow packed into that tiny frame was still there. That spark that used to light up his life was still there, and Tom felt himself melt at the sight of it, cautious happiness unfurl in his chest in response to his son.

In that moment, Tom promised himself to pick up playing again; he'd play every second of the day it it meant Tim would smile like that again.

* * *

As much as he shied away from them, there came a day where he didn’t cry at the memory of his Mom. His Dad still avoided the topic like the plague, but Tim found himself picking up one of their old photo-books, lingering over the pictures of his Mom. As he traced the edges of her smile and the tiny wrinkles just forming at the corners of her eyes, his eyes still watered and his heart still ached, but his lips curled up as he cradled the photos to his chest. For so long he hated the world for taking her away from them, trying to ignore the pain her death left that he had forgotten how good things used to be. Tim let himself remember _(the smell of her hair, the warmth of her hugs and how she brushed his hair)_ and basked in those memories instead of shoving them away. With a sigh, Tim closed the photo-book and put it back on the shelf before his Dad saw and got mad about it.

* * *

Tim was looking forward to Aunt Emma visiting: he didn’t have many memories of her, but his Mom had a few really funny stories starring her that made him intrigued by her. And a lot of his excitement was also about meeting someone who had known his Mom, too. This was the chance for them to sit down and actually talk about her; remember the good things about her, share stories about her and reminisce instead of trying to shove the pain away ~~Dad~~. Aunt Emma could tell him what she was like when she was young; what she was like before she was a Mom, before she had a husband. Whether she ever pulled any pranks on people or whether she liked school or who her friends were in school. He could tell her all about the stuff she missed out on while she was traveling and it would still be Thanksgiving without her there but it would be less lonely. Like she was there in spirit, maybe. Ease some of the hurt they all felt that just festered in the silence. Bring her back with in their stories and memories, just for a while, get to know his Moms’ sister for real before it’s too late to do even that.

He should have known that his Dad didn’t invite Aunt Emma over for that. The smile slipped from his face as he watched his Dad lace up his boots and walk out the door.

While they waited for his Dad, before the news shattered their quiet bubble into a million, irretrievable pieces with horrific captions and haunting videos, they did get to talk. And in those short-lived hours of peace, he felt like his Mom was still there with them, watching the two halves of her life meet and join each other at last. They might have cried while they talked, but they laughed, too.

* * *

Tim did not smile like he used to, eye shining and laughing at the drop of a hat. His sense of humor was quieter, slightly more sarcastic instead of goofy. But joy crept back into his world, and if you looked at the right moment, you could still see the way his eyes would light up. And if you paid attention, those smiles could still rival the sun, perfect and joyful and warm.

**Author's Note:**

> I have slightly mixed feelings about how this came out, but I'm curious what you readers think of it! Feel free to leave kudos and/or comments :D


End file.
